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THREE DAYS 



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THE WHITE MOUNTAINS; 



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INIOUNT WASHINaTON 



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OCTOBER 25, 2G, Ax\D 27, 1855. 



WRITTEN BY HIJISELF, 




BOSTON: 
PUBLISHED BY NATHANIEL NOYES 
1856. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the j^ear 1856, by 

B. L. BALL, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of :Slassachusetts. 



Stereotyped fcj 

HORART & ROB BIN' 9. 

New i:ug',aud Type aud btereoy pe FoiinJery, 

bokto V. 



PKEFACE. 



The following narrative of mj trip to the White Moun- 
tains is induced from the urgent desires of many friends, 
as well as strangers, to see in print a detailed account for 
perusal. 

This, irrespective of other reasons, would seem to justify 
the decision to make a small book, and to preclude as 
unnecessary any apology for intruding myself at this time 
on the public. 

With no claim to literary excellencCj I have simply 

endeavored to narrate correctly the facts which I noted 

down, as they each day recurred to my mind, during the 

several months of my confinement to the house. 

B. L. 13. 



THREE DAYS 



ON 



THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 



PRELIMINARIES. 

It was not from choice that I made my trip to the White 
Mountains in the fall of the year, instead of in the summer. 
A combination of circumstances seemed so to determine it. 
Still, early autumn, when the first touches of frost are upon 
the foliage, will be admitted by all to be an interesting sea- 
son to visit this, one of the most attractive places of natural 
beauty in our country. 

Perhaps a few words of explanation will tend to make 
my course better understood, and may not be out of place 
here. 

This excursion I had fixed upon as early as midsummer 
of 1854. I had then just returned from Europe, and was 
desirous to compare some of the finest American scenery with 
that, so highly vaunted, which I had seen abroad. Various 
engagements, however, interfered ; the proper season passed, 
and I gave up the intention till another year. 

The summer of 1855 advanced, and I again looked for a 
favorable opportunity to carry out my design. But much of 
_ _ 



PRELIIMINARIES. 



my time was employed in the preparation of my travels, — 
" Rambles in Eastern Asia," — and week after week sped 
away without affording me the desired opportunity. Still 
later I was detained with the proofs and other matters 
connected with the publication. Thus time wore away until 
the month of October had arrived. 

At this time I considered it too late, — thinking that the 
autumnal scenery must have lost its peculiar attractiveness, 
and that the chill of the weather on the Mountains would 
render a visit quite undesirable. But, a short time after- 
wards, in conversation with friends who had visited the 
mountains, I learned that, although it was rather late, I 
should probably be repaid for the journey, even should the 
visit be postponed to the first of November. Accordingly, 
i resolved to go as soon as it might be practicable. 

Time passed ; the middle of the month arrived before I 
found myself at liberty; but there were not sufficient indi- 
cations of suitable weather, and I preferred not to start 
until assured of, at least, a prospect of pleasant weather, 
although then I could not be assured that it would extend 
to the Mountains. 

About this time two friends — Mr. W. Balfour, and Mr. 
R. P. Napper, formerly travelling companions with me in the 
Philippine Isles — started on a visit to the White Moun- 
tains and Niagara Falls, at which places they proposed to 
stop to take sketches. They intended to be at the Mountains 
by the end of the week, and I partially arranged to meet 
them there. 

The twenty- third of October came (I had nearly given 



THE JOURNEY. 



up the idea of a trip this season), promising to be the 
commencement of continued fair weather. The previous 
evening, in making a call at the house of a friend, I met 
Rev. T. Starr King, with whom I conversed respecting the 
White Mountains at this season of the year. In speaking 
of their grandeur and beauty, Mr. K. remarked, that, al- 
though he had visited them several times, yet he should 
like to view them in their gray costume of autumn, and in 
their white robe of winter. I was agreeably impressed, dur- 
ing the conversation, with his description of the scenery; 
and I also perceived, when I left, that I had, as a conse- 
quence, an additional motive in visiting the White Mountains 
at this season. 

In the afternoon of this day the sun shone clear, the air 
was mild and warm, and I determined to make an expedi- 
tious trip. I intended to return on the third day, to be 
present at the Agricultural Fair, a part of which I wished 
to attend. I called on my friend. Dr. A. B. Hall, who had 
expressed a wish to join me in the excursion. His engage- 
ments preventing his leaving for two or three days, I 
returned to my room, and resolved to go alone. Taking a 
small valise, which had been in readiness some weeks, and 
making haste, I had barely time, without further informa- 
tion to my friends, to reach the Eastern Railroad station 
in season to take the half-past two P. m. train. 

I had intended, on the way, either going or coming, to 
visit some friends in Portsmouth; but, no convenient oppor- 
tunity offering in the intervals of the trains, I continued 
direct to Portland. On my arrival, which was a little after 



8 THE JOUENEY. 

dark, I was disappointed in finding no train in continuance 
for Gorham before the next day, and I remained at the 
Commercial House for the night. 

The following morning I arose early to proceed on my 
way. My disappointment, however, was still greater than 
that of the previous night. On looking out of the door, 
the rain was pouring fast, the air was cold, and thick with 
fog, giving a dark and gloomy character to the prospect of 
the day. Had I obeyed a first impulse, I should have 
returned direct to Boston. But, with the thought that after 
I was a couple of hours on the way the rain might cease 
and the sun appear, I decided to proceed to Gorham, feeling 
that if I should obtain a glimpse only of the Moun- 
tains, I could return in the afternoon train better satisfied 
with my trip. 

At eight in the mornino; we left the station-house for 
Gorham. During the passage I made the acquaintance of 
Mr. L. D. Methoot, a young Canadian, the proprietor of a 
tract of timber-land, and saw-mills, situated on the railroad 
between Gorham and Montreal. Mr. M. told me that if 
the weather cleared up, he would accompany me in the 
excursion on the Mountains. 

We arrived at Gorham about eleven a. m., and, the 
weather proving still unpropitious, Mr. M. concluded to con- 
tinue his journey. 

At the Alpine House, as I entered with the conductor, 
who makes a short stop there, I inquired, 

"Where are the White Mountains?" 

" 0," said he, pointing in the direction towards which 



ARRIVAL. 9 



the hotel fronted, " they are off there seven or eight miles. 
You will not be able to see them short of the Glen House, 
unless this fog clears away. In bright weather they are 
quite distinct and very pretty from here." 

a Yery well," said I ; " I will go to them, and endeavor 
to get some view of them ; " although I thought, before this, 
that if I succeeded in seeing the Mountains from this place, 
and the weather continued stormy, I should return home. 

Engaging a horse, no carriages being at hand, I set oif 
at twelve, on horseback, with my valise in front of me, and 
my umbrella raised to shield me from the rain. 

Following the only road, which wound along on the bank 
of a pretty mountain stream, whose waters whirled rapidly 
over a rocky bed, I very much enjoyed the ride, though it was 
in the rain ; and, as my attention was occupied with the woods 
on both sides, in which trees were lying in different direc- 
tions, as they had fallen torn up by the roots, mingled with 
large rocks standing in strange positions, the way seemed 
not long or tedious. 

Arriving at the Glen House, which is situated at the 
base of the Mountains, I observed that the atmosphere was 
a dense mass of fog. I disposed of the horse temporarily 
at the stable, with the intention of making a stop of a 
half hour, and then returning. 

On entering the hotel, I met the proprietor, Mr. Thomp- 
son, and, after inquiring for my two friends, and ascertain- 
ing that they had not been here, as I dried my clothes 
by the fire I engaged in conversation. 

" The Mountains are not now to be seen, I presume ? " 



10 AREIVAL. 



"No, sir; you will not probably be able to see them 
to-day. At all events, not till after the weather has cleared 
up." 

"I am somewhat disappointed, as I came over from Gor- 
ham with the belief that I might be able to get some kind 
of a view ; but, after all, the prospect is that I shall have 
to return without it." 

"Why, sir, I cannot say how it may be to-morrow, but 
to-day the prospect is very slight, I assui'e you." 

" The weather is rather changeable here, is it not, sir ? " 

" Yes, sir ; it is always more or less so ; and at this 
season we expect many changes. Sometimes the Mountain 
is clear for days, and then it is covered with clouds. 
Again, one may observe that it is perfectly clear on the 
summit, with the sun shining brightly, and in ten minutes 
afterwards the clouds will have shut down and enshrouded 
every part. Mount Washington is particularly subject to 
this variableness, and little dependence can be placed on it 
at any time." 

" Is there no way, then, that I can contrive to get a 
slight view of the Mountains before returning ? " 

" None, that I am aware of, in this state of the weather. 
It is as you see ; the Mountains are entirely excluded from 
sight by the clouds and fog. This may last an hour, or 
days." 

" Yes, sir ; I observed, as I came up to the house, there 
was nothing to be seen beyond a short distance from the 
house, which reminded me somewhat of a lone island in 
the midst of a fog at sea." 



ARRIVAL. 11 

"You might walk up on the new road a piece, if that 
would be any satisfaction." 

"The new road — what is that?" 

" It is a carriage road, which is being built by a New 
York company, so that people may ride all the way up, in 
vehicles, on a smooth Macadamized road to the summit, and 
with seats made level, which will remain the same in ascend- 
ing or descending." 

" Yes, sir ; I suppose I can follow the road easily 
enough? " 

" yes, there is no difficulty about that. You can see 
it here from the window. There it is, just at the foot 
of the hill, crossing that bridge, and entering the woods a 
little beyond. You cannot discern it far. If there was no 
fog it could be seen to the Camp House and the Ledge, 
which is as far as it extends at present." 

" What am I to understand by the Camp House ? The 
Ledge, I presume, is a ledge of rocks ? " 

"The Camp House is a small one-story building for the 
use of the workmen on the road. It is about four miles from 
here, or about half way to the summit, and is situated at the 
foot of the Ledge. The Ledge is a kind of high bluff, with 
a steep and somewhat precipitous face, covered with boulder- 
like stones of different sizes. At one part a path leads 
up and over the top. This is called the bridle-path, and 
is the one used by visitors in making the ascent to the 
summit either in walking or on horseback." 

" Very well, sir ; I think I will take a walk up the 
carriage road, and be satisfied with a survey of that." 



12 WALK ON THE CARRIAGE ROAD. 

To this Mr. Thompson answered : " You will find noth- 
ing in your way there; but I would by no means attempt 
to go to the summit. It is too late in the day, besides 
you could see nothing for the clouds." 

" 0, no ! " I answered, " I shall not wish to go further 
than the Camp House, should I even go as far as that." 

As the wind was yet blowing, by permission from Mr. 
T. I exchanged my hat for a cloth cap, which I saw hang- 
ing in the room ; and, as it continued to rain, I took my 
umbrella and walked out. 

Crossing the bridge a little below the house, I came upon 
the new road, and soon lost all trace of the house in the 
fog. The freshly broken stones were loose and untrodden as 
they had been left by the workmen, and the walking was 
rough and wet, but was tolerable, by selecting the path at 
one side. The road uniformly takes a considerable rise in 
the grade, and makes long sweeps, in a zigzag course, to 
the right and left, and is enclosed on both sides by forests 
of fir, beech, and other wood. On the way I noticed sev- 
eral deserted and weather-beaten camp-houses, where, in an 
emergency, a person might make a tolerable night's lodging. 

Although the rain fell fast, the air here was pure, cold, 
and invigorating, and I felt stimulated to continue my walk, 
which seemed to produce scarcely any fatigue. From the 
newness and novelty of the road, there was something on 
either side to attract the eye, and the time passed almost 
imperceptibly. I walked pretty fast, and in between one and 
two hours I was surprised to find myself so soon at the 
end of the road, and at the foot of the Ledge. 



WALK ON THE CARRIAGE ROAD. 13 

The Camp House I had passed, leaving it on my right 
some fifty rods behind, and, by its proximity to the Ledge 
and its nearness to the end of the road, I recognized it as 
being the one spoken of by Mr. Thompson. Casting my 
eyes to the top of the Ledge, and reflecting a few moments, 
I concluded, as it was not very high, that I should not 
be violating very much the advice of Mr. Thompson if I 
went to the top. 

Unable to discover a path, I clambered lightly and rapidly 
over the rocks, not a little fearful that, if I loosened one, 
the whole mass, from the highest to the lowest, would be 
in motion beneath my feet. This was accomplished, however, 
without much difficulty; but at the top I found the view 
narrowly limited by the clouds, and quite unsatisfactory. 
Perceiving higher land beyond, I started for it. The wind 
was chilling, and the rain froze as it fell, forming a thickness 
upon my clothes and umbrella, and a crust on the snow, 
through which my feet broke at each step. 

The snow was about twelve inches deep, and very fatigu- 
ing to walk upon. Having continued for about an hour, 
the distance seeming to be scarcely lessened, I turned to 
retrace my steps. Darkness gathering around, I ran with 
the best of my speed, and passed quickly over the ground, 
with not unfrequent falls, from the accumulating weight of 
ice, and the slippery stones hidden beneath the snow. The 
darkness having rapidly increased, it was with difficulty that 
I could discern my tracks; often I could only make my 
way by feeling the indentures in the broken crust. At 
last, as I had begun to fear I had lost my course, the 



14 STOP AT THE CAMP HOUSE. 

Ledge suddenly appeared at my feet below me. I descended 
the rocks by sliding from one to the other, scarcely able 
to see them, but without accident, further than several times 
being caught by my feet, and obliged to pull myself up 
and back again, in extricating myself from among the ice- 
clad rocks. 

Arriving at the door of the Camp House, I met the occu- 
pant, Mr. J. D. Myers, and two others, and was at once 
made welcome. I was completely encased with ice, and 
chilled through with the cold. My coat being hung up to 
dry, shoes taken off, stockings wrung out, and a dry pair 
substituted, I sat down, and enjoyed the warmth of a blaz- 
ing fire. Coffee was then made, and, with food, set before 
me; it seemed as if the kind-hearted Mr. Myers could not 
do enough for me. The evening being very dark, cold and 
stormy with rain, I accepted the hospitable invitation to 
remain until the next day. 

A comfortable night was passed, though, with the wind 
blowing hard, and a heavy, pelting rain falling upon the 
roof and sides of the house, my mind was full of thoughts 
that admitted not of sleep. 



THE FIRST DAY. 

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 25TH. 

The morning dawned. Little did I contemplate, as the 
first streaks of light peered through the window over my 
couch, that the evening shadows of that day would close 
around me, a lost and bewildered traveller, amid the terri- 
fying solitude of the mountain-top, having for my shelter 
only a lair of rocks and frozen snow, and there to pass 
the night alone. 

It was not, however, with any determination of attempt- 
ing to climb the Mountain, that I arose and walked out 
to view the prospect. The weather had softened ; the 
clouds which yet hung over the Mountain now gave but 
little rain, and seemed likely to break away. The bridle 
path ascending the Ledge was pointed out to me in front 
of the house, free of snow, and, no obstacles seeming to be 
in the way, I could not resist the thought of making a 
short trip over the Ledge. I remembered the conversation 
with Rev. Mr. King the evening before my departure, and 
his advice to take a guide, etc. But here there are no 
guides, — none certainly within four miles, and perhaps not 
so near as that. The rain of the last nisrht has freed the 
path of snow. I can at least go on as far as I went 
yesterday, and, if there is nothing in the way, I may be 
able to continue on even to the summit. Besides, I am 



16 THE FIRST DAY. 

already half way up the Mountain. It is only four miles 
from here, and I should be able to return by noon even 
from the summit; for it is called only four hours' ride up 
and back from the Glen House, and this is but half the 
distance. Keturning by noon, I can take the cars in Grorham 
to Portland to-night, and be in Boston to-morrow forenoon, 
a half day beyond my time. The difference will not be 
great. I am already on the ground. A convenient oppor- 
tunity may not present another season. The present time 
is always the best. 

Having regarded the subject in this light, I remarked to 
Mr. Myers that I thought I would make a short trip 
up the Mountain. 

"Do you think so?" said he; "what, up to the summit?" 
"As to that, I cannot say. I shall, no doubt, have to be 
governed by circumstances there." 

" Well, it is n't a very good time to go. You '11 find it 
pretty cold up there. Still, there is a good path all the way, 
if there is no snow. I don't know as there will be any 
great difficulty. But I wouldn't stay to be out after dark. 
You have heard of the lady who lost her way one day 
last month on the summit, and died there, — she and her 
party being out all night ? " 

" Miss Bourne you refer to, I presume ? " 
"Yes, Miss Bourne, from Kennebunk. She was a beau- 
tiful lady. I saw the party when they passed here. They 
were all in such good spirits, so lively, talking and laugh- 
ing ! I knew it was too late in the afternoon for them to 
go, and I tried to prevail upon them to stop here over 



THE ASCENT. 17 



night, and then to proceed on in the morning ; but thcj 
were determined to go. It was a sad sight when they 
brought her over the Ledge, — the day before so full of ani- 
mation, tripping along so gayly, and then to see her form 
so lifeless, and all so changed and sorrowful ! I pitied the 
whole party from the bottom of my heart. But I learned 
she did not die from cold, but from fatigue and general 
exhaustion, and without suffering. I believe they said she 
had some difficulty of the chest. It seemed hard that 
they could not find the Summit House when they were so 
near, — but forty rods, — and the gentleman accompanying 
them even went within twenty rods." 

Mr. M. spoke so feelingly of the misfortune, that I could 
not but realize a profound sympathy for them; and, with 
my limited time, I could not delay as long as I should 
like to have done. 

I sat down to the table, with scarcely any appetite, and 
drank a bowl of coffee, and eat a few mouthfuls of food, 
which satisfied me. I then exchanged my shoes for a pair 
of Mr. M.'s stout thick boots. These were much too large, 
but I at last concluded to wear them rather than the shoes. 
It continuing to sprinkle, I took my umbrella, and, thank- 
ing Mr. Myers for his kindness, started out. Looking 
around for a stick that would serve for a staff, Mr. M. 
said : — 

"Ah, here, take this cane. It is one I cut on Mount 
Washington, and I '11 make you a present of it. Should you 
see any bears in your way, let me know, and I will come 
up with my gun." 



18 THE FIRST DAY. 

^^ Bears!" said I; "you do PxOt mean to say that there 
are bears at that height ? " 

" Sometimes there are. "We frequently see their tracks 
about." 

" Very well," said I ; "I hope not to meet a hungry one. 
But if I see any I will endeavor to let you know." 

Entering' upon the path, which was a rough and stony one, I 
ascended the steep side with little fatigue, and in half an 
hour reached the top of the Ledge. The view, however, was 
but little more extensive than at the foot of the Ledge. 

Beyond me, for the distance of a quarter of a mile, or a 
little more, the ground gradually ascended. Its uneven sur- 
face was covered with rocks, and patches of snow not wholly 
carried away by the rain. Further than this the landscape 
was obscured by misty clouds hanging close upon the earth. 
I then turned around to obtain a view off and below the 
Ledo;e. But not the Glen House, nor the road, nor a moun- 
tain, could be seen ; only the Camp House, with a small thicket 
of fire-killed trees and brush around. All else was screened 
by fog. 

Starting on again, I directly came to the path where I 
recognized my footsteps of the night before. And my surprise 
was not a little on perceiving the large footprints of a bear, 
which had apparently followed along after me in the descent. 
His enormous feet in many places had completely annihilated 
my own tracks. I stepped back to the Ledge, to give the in- 
formation to Mr. M., and succeeded in making my voice 
heard at the Camp House, and then went on, observing the 
animal's tracks for a mile, when they disappeared among the 



THE ASCENT. 19 



rocks. I kept a good lookout, in case he or his companions 
were hovering about. Several times I saw one some distance 
ahead ; but, on coming up, it invariably proved to be a black 
rock. 

Here the path was no longer discernible, and so gradually 
did it lose itself among the snow and rocks that I could not 
detect its termination; but, on looking back, I could make it 
out by the less buried stones at its sides. The surface now 
was uniformly covered with snow to the depth of eight or ten 
inches, and nothing to be seen but black rocks, of every size, 
shape, and dimension, singly and in piles, scattered around on 
all sides ; and I continued on, following the rise of the land. 
I brought to mind that I had heard that the Mountain be- 
tween the Camp House and summit was made up of four 
eminences or peaks, called mountains, and that Mount Wash- 
ington constituted the fourth and the last. 

Having passed the first mountain, the way was more difficult 
and wearisome. My feet broke through the crust at each 
step, and gave much pain to my ankles. Sometimes they 
were caught and held fast between the hidden rocks, and 
required some labor to extricate them. I endeavored to select 
the best course, and, wherever the way was impassable or dif- 
ficult, T retraced my steps, or made circuits, trying at different 
points until I succeeded in getting beyond them, although it 
made much more travel than would have been necessary could 
I have gone in a direct line or by the path. However, I did 
not regard this as a real obstacle, and did not think of re- 
turning, especially as I observed that the clouds occasionally 
broke away, revealing the blue sky, which might at length 



20 THE FIRST DAY. 

render the Mountain clear. I thought it very likely that I 
might continue on to the summit, though I should have to 
allow myself more time than would be consistent with my 
getting back to the Camp House by noon. 

It was between the second and third mountains that I 
began to perceive the air disagreeably cold. The rain had 
changed from sleet to hail, and lastly to snow. The wind had 
increased, so that I closed my umbrella and used it as a walk- 
ing-stick; and the snow fell fast, limiting the view to a 
small extent around me. 

Once, while disengaging my feet from among rocks in a 
pit of snow, into which I had sunk deeper than before, the 
difficulty that I experienced, together with the cold, suggested a 
thought of returning. I was aware that, in the present state 
of the weather, if I should reach the summit, it could be of 
no advantage ; still, if I was there, I could make use of any 
opportunity that might occur. But at this moment the clouds 
opened and disclosed a portion of elevated land nearly ahead, 
when it was again immediately obscured. Yes, thought I, 
there is the third mountain, and not more than fifteen 
minutes' walk from here. I will keep along yet, and reach it. 

I marked well the direction in my mind, and then pressed 
forward. Enveloped in an atmosphere of snow, the ground very 
variable, with rocks and steeps, I could not adhere to my 
course ; and, with numerous turnings, travelling to and fro to 
find my way, it seemed to me that I must have gone many 
times its real distance, and that the time occupied was much 
longer than I had expected. 

The summit of the third mountain was at length reached ; 



THE ASCENT. 21 



but from which side I could not know, and in what direc- 
tion lay the land beyond was equally as difficult to determine. 
But three-fourths of the distance I knew was accomplished. I 
looked at my deep footprints, and saw that they would not be 
soon filled, and that I should be able to follow them back 
when I chose to return. Besides, I had taken the precau- 
tion several times to place two stones together upon the top 
of a large rock, in such a manner that I could recognize them 
as my guide-marks. 

Leaving here, I made my way down by a gradual slope, and 
then over uneven places, ascending and descending. I was 
guided in the direction I took only by a glimpse now and 
then of a black rock, sometimes ahead, then upon the right 
or left 

The air was piercing cold. The wind blew with violence. 
The snow was wafted in clouds around me. The storm was 
difficult to face, and I could see but a little way in any 
direction. I stopped, and debated within myself whether I 
should go on. The storm can only be regarded as a sudden 
squall, I said, I shall expect in a half hour to see it dissi- 
pated. A single half hour will, no doubt, be sufficient to 
enable me to gain this last summit. The distance can hardly 
be more than half or three-quarters of a mile ; and, once at 
the summit, I shall find a comfortable shelter. 

There, I had been told, one of the two houses is left the 
whole year so that it can be entered at any time by the 
unfortunate, yet fortunate, traveller who may happen to be 
within its reach. And for his comfort he may find stored for 
use food and drink, conveniences for fire, with wood and 



22 THE FIRST DAY. 

matches, lamps, clothes and bedding for the night, — an arrange- 
ment reflecting much credit on the part of the proprietor. It 
is to be regretted, however, that, against such a noble desire 
to afford relief and succor to the distressed, must be set the 
fact that some thankless individuals have, on one occasion, 
visited the house, and, after regaling themselves, broken and 
strewed about the furniture, and made wasteful disposition of 
the provisions laid up in abundance. 

But should I turn back, thought I, and the storm in an 
hour leave the Mountain free and clear, I should feel much 
dissatisfied for having allowed a slight obstacle to thwart my 
purpose and deprive me of an opportunity which may not occur 
again for years. 

Had I, while travelling in other countries, yielded to oppos- 
ing difficulties, I should have lost some interesting sights, 
which I should never have regained. For example, in cross- 
ing the Bernese Alps, had my companion and myself been 
discouraged by the depth of the snow, through which, with 
wearied steps, we were wading, we should have missed some of 
those beautiful landscapes so characteristic of the Alpine scenery. 
If, against the protestations of guides, we had not persisted 
in climbing the snowy peak of a lofty group of mountains near 
the Bains de Loeuk, in Switzerland, where we beheld below us 
on every side a wide-spread forest of almost innumerable gray 
peaks, diminishing gradually to mere fine points in the dis- 
tance, we should have been deprived of one of the most 
striking and majestic panoramic views of nature in Europe. 
And I should never have witnessed the grandest specimen 
of volcanic scenes, had it not been for persevering to the third 



T II E A S C E N T . 23 



time in the attempt to ascend the cone of the Marapee, in 
Java, in spite of the assurances of the natives that it was 
impossible ; that by " birds only had it been visited, and 
that it would prove fatal." 

The obstacles here did not seem really insurmountable, 
compared with those of other places which I have visited ; 
and I concluded that, to turn back at this stage of the 
journey, would be attended with more fatigue, and longer 
exposure, than to complete the short distance which it could 
be to the summit. It is true, I could have wished the 
inspiring society of a companion. But I must proceed alone; 
and on I went, with renewed energy, buifeting the more furi- 
ous storm. 

I walked as fast as my partially benumbed limbs would 
permit over uneven land, climbing piles of craggy rocks, and 
at length found myself on more regular, but abruptly rising 
ground. My feet, hands and face, ached with the severe 
cold. I could see little where I was going, but I pressed 
on, now in one direction, then in another, as best I could 
make out a course a few rods ahead. Warmth I endeav- 
ored to restore to my body by energetic action ; often stop- 
ping and turning round, and thrashing my arms around me. 
My swollen hands I could in some measure protect by 
changing them alternately into my pockets. Many times, in 
a struggle for superiority with the wind, was I thrown to 
the ground. It was the hardest storm I ever encountered, 
the most difficult to contend with, and the cold was the 
most severe I had yet endured, believing it to be not less 
than ten or twelve degrees below zero of Fahrenheit. 



24 THEFIRSTDAY. 

As I toiled on, I experienced an unusual pain in tlie 
bones of my face, and, putting up my hand, found the face 
completely encompassed by a body of ice. It was formed 
of the snow melted into my whiskers, and congealed into a 
solid mass. A row of icicles, two inches in length, had 
formed around the visor of my cap. My eyelashes were 
filled with icy globules, which had frequently to be broken 
to enable me to see. I considered the aspect of afiairs to 
be somewhat desperate, and looked back. 

But, no, thought I, the summit must be near, and, after 
so long a time and so much labor, I will not turn yet. 
At the Summit House I can make myself comfortable ; and 
the storm is too violent to continue long, especially so early 
in the season as October. Thoughts of this nature passed 
through my mind, and, holding to my resolve, I said to 
myself, 

" I will still try for the Summit House ! " 

I believe I have always accomplished what I have un- 
dertaken, when really determined. And yet this seems an 
exception, for there are circumstances over which I can have 
no control. I had left the Camp House to go on or re- 
turn, as appearances might seem to favor. Still, as I was 
already half way up the Mountain, I had a desire to go 
to the summit, and felt somewhat impressed that I might 
do so. 

Now I was struggling on with not very encouraging re- 
sults, but with a strong hope as I reminded myself that I 
was on some part of the fourth mountain. Had there 
been another to be climbed in this state of things I should 



THE SUMMIT. 25 



have precipitately turned about and abandoned further effort. 
I reconciled myself that each step forward was so much 
gained, although, in gaining that step, often several were 
lost backward, which seemed to me like fighting for every 
advance I made. 

The storm, instead of abating, appeared to increase. Sheets 
of snow one after the other rapidly descended, not in light 
feathery flakes, but in hard crystallized grains, volleys of 
which, as they struck the eyes, were painfully blinding. 
The only way they were to be endured was to bend the 
head low, or to face entirely around. 

I took advantage of each slight interval of the gusts to 
plunge forward with the aid of my cane. Constrained in 
my movements by one hand under my coat, to prevent it 
freezing, I was more than once thrown to the ground, with 
my hands immersed in the frosty snow. 

At length, after upwards of an hour's painful exer- 
tion between the third and fourth Mountain, I came sud- 
denly upon comparatively level ground. Breathless, with my 
whole frame shaking with cold, I could not but congratu- 
late myself on my success; and, as I saw no other land 
rising before or around me, I exclaimed, in an audible voice, 
but which was instantly swallowed by the vortex of winds, 

'''■Mount Washington at last — and here is the Su?nmit I ^' 

I could not have believed that the storm could be more 
violent than it had been. Yet here it was more furious 
than ever. But how to describe it I know not. It now 
had the full sweep of the mountain-top, the highest point 
of the whole group, of the loftiest mountain for hundreds 



26 THEFIRSTDAY. 

of miles around. If ten hurricanes had been in deadly 
strife with each other, it could have been no worse. The 
winds, as if locked in mortal embrace, tore along, twisting 
and whirling, and mingling their roaring with the flinty rat- 
tling of the snow-grains in one confused din. But I again 
flattered myself, as sometimes at sea, " it is indeed a severe 
squall, but it will soon be over." 

It was with extreme difficulty that I could keep on my 
feet. I braced myself with my cane, and, stooping, held 
with one shoulder to the blast; then, as it veered and forced 
me round, I presented the other, all the time scarcely able 
to catch my breath. 

The cold was intense, and respiration was becoming labo- 
rious. I must reach the Summit House soon ! I cannot 
long stand still ! And yet in what direction shall I go ? 

Clearing my eyes of the icy globules, I charge forward, 
now to the right, and then to the left. But I can see 
nothing. Again I hold, and again I plunge forward in the 
slight intervals of the blasts. And then, restricted by my 
freezing hands momentarily thrust in my pockets, I am thrown 
down and nearly sufi'ocated in the dense volumes of rising snow 
before I can regain my benumbed limbs. 

Now at one side I perceive a darker shade upon the 
thick atmosphere. If it is the Summit House I shall be 
happy. With all my strength I succeed, after several falls, 
in reaching it. But it turns out to be a large rock. There 
is a small pyramid of stones piled upon the top. Some 
one must have placed them there. Is it not a beacon-guide 
to the house ? But it may be the monument of the unfor- 



THESUMMIT. 27 



tunate lady who died here. And, if it is, the Summit 
House is near. How much better can I now realize the 
difficulty of her situation ! 

Crouching beside the rock, I endeavored to peer into the 
whirling clouds of snow ; but I was only blinded in the 
attempt. 

But this cold chills me through. I must find the house, 
or I shall perish. Again I glide out, and combat the 
pelting storm. I grope in different directions, but with no 
better success. I fall upon my knees, and press my hands 
for warmth between them. My head I hold low to shield 
my face. But it will not do to remain still, and, rising, 
I thrust myself forward. 

The storm pours down as if I was the only object of 
its wrath, and as if avenging itself for some unknown 
offence. Blasts of the confused elements grapple each other, 
in rapid succession, and envelop me in commingled sheets 
of impenetrable snow. The wind, encircling me with its 
powerful folds, presses the cold to my very vitals, colder 
than the coldest robe of ice. Now it wrests me from my 
feet; again, it carries me furiously before it, and I sink 
down in fear that it will hurl me over an unseen preci- 
pice. For a few moments I remain to breathe and to 
rest. Shall I retreat, or shall I persevere? for I am freez- 
ing. 

Springing upon my feet, I set off in other directions, try- 
ing to discern the house. There is a dark shade to the 
left. Gaining it, it proves to be a long oval heap of 
rocks, and I crawl to the top, to get a view, if possible. 



28 THEFIRSTDAY. 

With difficulty I cling to them. My eyes are strained to 
every side, endeavoring to penetrate the fierce deluge of 
driving snow. Everywhere it is the same ; not a dark 
shadow, even, to indicate a building. 

But I must retreat ; and yet, so near, I cannot. This 
freezing cold will be fatal. My breath is short, and goes 
and comes with labor. 0, that I could get o?ie gliinpse of 
the Mountain, and for one moment only, that I might see 
where I am — that I might have the least idea of the 
place — of its form — its extent, to determine me I * 

* Since my escape from the Mountains, a gentleman who had visited 
Mount Washington told me that, although the two houses at the summit 
are not five rods apart, his friend, one morning, lost his way in 
going from one house to the other, and was brought back by the 
guide who went in search of him. 

Another instance Mr. Noyes, publisher of Rev. Mr. Wiley's interesting 
"Incidents of the White Mountains," related to me. Mr. N., one 
cloudy morning, was standing in the door of the Summit House, when 
he thought he heard the footsteps of some one approaching. He lis- 
tened, and soon discerned in the fog the form of a man. He watched 
him, and saw him pass the house. Thinking the man might be wrong, 
he followed, and, on coming up, spoke to him. 

" Which way are you going, sir ? " 

" Going ? I am going to the Summit House, if I can find it." 

"How far do you expect to travel to reach it?" inquired Mr. N. 

" Well, I don't know. I have been tugging on for the last hour, 
expecting to find it. They told me it was only a few miles along; 
and I should think I had already been travelling fifteen ! " 

"But the course you are on now," said Mr. N., ''will take you over 
the other side to the Crawford House. You have already passed the 
Summit House." And the man was led back, astonished to find he had 
passed one house ten rods from the path, and the other but six. 



THE SUMMIT. 29 

And yet, perhaps, I am mistaken. This Mountain may be 
the third, instead of the fourth. I may have counted one 
that is not reckoned as a Mountain, in which case, the 
summit is beyond, and still unreached. How one ray of 
sunlight would illumine the whole, and dispel all doubts 
and obscurities ! Here there is no path, no object, nothing 
to mark the way. How simply could all these rocks have 
been made to subserve the use of guide-posts, and remain, 
as enduring as the Mountain itself, to conduct one to the 
summit ! Unwilling to give up until more convinced of 
some error, I determined to persevere a little longer. Hav- 
ing made my way carefully over and down the rocks, I 
sought in yet other places for the Summit House, guard- 
ing myself against being carried too far by the terrible 
blasts. But my feet and hands were frozen, and my body 
so benumbed that I was pitched and thrown about upon 
the stones with very great violence ; and the snow particles 
struck with such force that they penetrated the skin, caus- 
ing the blood to start from my hands. Unable to see but a 
few feet from me, I sought, and sought in vain! 

"With no encouragement from my efforts, I seated myself 
beside a rock, slightly sheltered, to rest and to consider the 
best course to pursue, hoping, in the mean time, that the 
storm would break, and reveal the Summit House, or enable 
me to see a safe way down, by which I might return. 

How long I remained here I cannot say. I presume it 
was but a few minutes. I recollect the reflection that I 
had battled with the elements for several hours, and that, 

as there was little prospect of the storm abating, it would 

_ 



30 THEFIKSTDAY. 

be useless to continue longer. Afterwards I felt cold streams 
running through me from the rock, and my head had sunk 
upon my breast. Then it seemed as if I had become a 
part of the rock itself, and riveted to the ground : and I 
was made aware of an indescribably happy sensation steal- 
ing over me — of sleep ! I did not wish to move ; my 
whole inclination was to indulge, at least, for a short time. 
But a second thought, of the consequences — once lost in 
sleep would be to wake no more ! — aroused me. Raising 
my head with considerable exertion, I arose upon my stiffened 
limbs, divesting myself of the snowy accumulation. Inclin- 
ing upon the rock, I once more turned my eyes, screening 
them with my hands, to every side, carefully scrutinizing 
every foot of the view around me. But the driving waves 
of snow completely encircling the spot could be penetrated a 
short distance only. 

" Once more ! " said I, as I thought of the several hours' 
travelling back to the Camp House. " Once more let me 
try." And, urged by a last hope that I might by accident 
discover the Summit House, I sallied forth, reeling and 
staggering with my weakened limbs, and less able to buffet 
the storm. I, however, soon returned. Everywhere the land 
seemed to descend, indicating that it was the summit of 
some mountain, or some peak, but affording no clue or trace 
to the object of my search. 

It now came for me to reluctantly consider the proper 
course for making my way back. I say reluctantly, for it 
was hard to abandon the project under the belief that the 
comfortable Summit House was so near. I had hoped, at 



THE DESCENT. 31 

last, to find a shelter, to rest, and to refresh my body with 
"warmth, and, remaining until the storm was over, to start 
anew. A little before this I had thought I could not possi- 
bly hold out longer; but now, tired, faint, weary, exhausted, 
chilled and benumbed, without any respite, I must go all the 
way back. I must force my frozen feet to move, or sink with 
the cold upon the ground. The prospect did indeed look 
somewhat discouraging. 

Judging it to be near the middle of the afternoon, I 
considered that there was no time to be lost. I hastened 
to find the track of my footsteps, to follow it back. This 
was so irregular, crossing at various places, lost at times by 
bare spots of the ground, again partially obliterated, that so 
much time was consumed in the search, with my strength 
rapidly failing from the cold, I believed it more prudent to 
abandon it entirely; and I set off making the descent, guided 
solely by the fall of the land. The wind charged furiously 
behind, enveloping me in volumes of snow. Frequently, as 
I was driven onward, I was obliged to clutch the rocks for 
some minutes, to prevent being precipitated down the de- 
clivitous places. With all my care to guard myself against 
the sudden gusts, I could not avert falls and consequent bruises 
from the hidden stones. 

I had not proceeded a great distance, when my attention 
was drawn to a stake standing upright a few inches above 
the snow. I pressed along, wondering how it ever came 
in such a desolate place, and saw others. I then observed 
that they were at regular distances apart, — forty or fifty 
feet. Believing they had been placed for some particular 



32 THEFIRSTDAY. 

purpose, I endeavored to attach, some importance to them as 
being in some way connected with the Summit House. Then, 
from the unevenness and irregularity of the surface, seeing 
that they could be of no use there, and noticing that one was 
always lower than the other, I came to the conclusion that 
they were bounds left in laying out a road to the summit. In 
this I was more confirmed, as I remembered I had heard that 
a road was in contemplation all the way to the peak of Mt. 
Washino'ton. 

At first I thought I would turn and trace them up, pre- 
suming that they might lead me to the Summit House ; but 
the doubts of their extending all the way, my exhaustion, the 
facing of the storm, the toiling ascent, my benumbed limbs, the 
terrible, piercing cold, and lateness of the day, outweighed all 
other considerations. I will not risk anything more upward. 
No, it shall henceforth be downward^ downivard. I will fol- 
low these stakes wherever they may lead, if it is only dmon- 
ward. I shall certainly find the weather more endurable 
below, at whatever part it may be; and wherever footsteps 
have been to place the stakes, I can most assuredly follow. 

On I went, with as long and rapid strides as the thick- 
ness of the snow, nature of the ground, and my own 
strength would permit. Often the course, by its sudden changes 
to the right or left, or hidden by the uneven surface and 
rocks, was lost, and as often I was obliged to retrace my 
steps, searching upon every side, and losing time in my endeav- 
ors to recover it. 

Frequently difficult places, steep and rocky, had to be 
crossed, as the liability of passing the stakes in going around 



THE DESCENT. 33 

rendered it necessary. Generally the next stake could be 
detected from the one behind; but, when delays occurred in 
searching for them, the opportunity "was made use of to pre- 
vent my hands freezing by rubbing, or pounding, or holding 
them within the folds of my coat upon some less chilled 
part of my body. In this manner I continued along the 
zigzag course, descending, and enshrouded by the snowy atmos- 
phere, without the knowledge of whither or upon which side 
of the mountain my steps were bending. 

At length a patch of thick, stunted brushwood appeared 
before me, assuring me that I was down to the line of vegeta- 
tion. This was made up of hard-seasoned, winter-killed shrubs, 
with sharp-pointed limbs branching out in every direction 
like entangled deers' horns. It seemed impenetrable to human 
footsteps ; and, what was worse, in the midst of it I had lost the 
stakes, and they were now^here to be seen. 

Searching on every side, and not finding them, I returned 
to those last passed. Taking their range in a straight line, I 
plunged into the brush, avoiding the limbs this way and that ; 
now stepping over, now under, and then around, and disen- 
gaging myself on one side, then on the other, from their 
scraggy points. At length one was discovered nearly buried 
in the snow, but from that no other could be detected. 
Vainly did I seek them in every direction, for upon them my 
hopes indeed would depend. Could it be that here they ter- 
minated ? Stopping a few moments to consider, I was for the 
first time startled by observing that the shades of night were 
gathering around. What am I to do ? Which way shall I 
go ? What now have I to rely upon to guide me in this barren 



84 THEFIRSTDAY. 

waste, in the midst of this storm, and soon in darkness ? I 
will continue doiv?iwa7'd, and in any course where I shall be 
able to thread my way, for I know not which side of the 
mountain I am on. 

With little delay I was hurrying on through the brush, now 
over a bed of stones, around the rocks here and there, and 
endeavoring to shun the entangling shrubs. My progress much 
impeded by the various obstacles, my clothes rent, the dark- 
ness increasing, at length I could see but a few steps around 
me. The wind, in spite of my exertions, drove me several 
paces forward, and often nearly headlong over the stones, and 
I caught the branches and held with my hands for fear of being 
hurled over some supposed precipice in front of me. 

Again I stopped for reflection. And now the full convic- 
tion of my position came upon me. " My God ! " exclaimed 
I, "am I to pass the night here?" Much exhausted in 
strength, my whole body was trembling with cold. Darkness 
was closing in. A snowy bed, unsheltered from the piercing 
blasts, my only couch, awaited me. Is it possible to survive 
this ? But I am alone. I feel that I am fast freezing. My 
own exertions are all I have to depend upon. I must hasten 
for a shelter, where I can rest a few minutes from the cold, and 
think what course I am to pursue. 

A sudden gust here wrested me from my feet, and threw 
me on the ground. I sprang up and hastened to look for a 
rock, a hole, a bank, anythuig for a shelter. But nothing 
of the kind could I discover. Halting upon a flat rock, and, 
casting my eyes around me, I discerned a small recess between 
it and a patch of low firs. Taking possession, and crouch- 



THE SHELTER. 35 

ing down, I slowly spread my umbrella, and raised it over me, 
carefully keeping the circumference below the firs from the 
wind. Now for something to hold it. Thrusting my hand into 
the snow, it came in contact with a strong root, bent up, as if it 
had grown for the purpose, and, resting the handle of the um- 
brella against it, I fastened it with a small cord, though with 
difficulty from my benumbed hands. 

After a little rest, during which I felt strongly inclined to 
sleep, I returned to the upper side of the rock to perfect my 
habitation. With all my remaining strength I set to work 
pulling up the tough bushes by the roots, and piling thwn upon 
the umbrella, to protect it from the wind ; and I attempted to 
extend the covering in front, but the crooked branches effected 
very little for the object. During the process I exerted all my 
energy, with the view to quicken the circulation of the blood 
and to restore warmth to my body. But the cold, by the force 
of the wind, penetrated like water, and conducted off the heat as 
rapidly as it was generated ; and I was reminded of the fact 
that a person can endure a greater degree of cold, and that much 
longer, when sheltered from the wind, than when exposed to it. 
The sides of my camp I battened in with crusts of snow and 
with the tops of the firs which I could twist off. This opera- 
tion was very slow and painful, as the branches were frozen in a 
solid mass of snow, and I had only a penknife, which I could 
not hold in my benumbed fingers. 

Next I attempted to build a fire, hoping that it might show 
from the Mountain as a signal-light, though I had little idea 
that any one would be within its sight. The wood, coated with 
ice and damp, would scarcely kindle, and, if a blaze succeeded, 



36 THEFIRSTDAT. 

it was almost as soon dashed out by the storm, and the pile 
scattered. 

Having nearly exhausted my matches, my paper consumed, 
in which not unlikely were some ten-dollar bills, for which the 
Northboro' Bank will be no loser, I gave up further efforts. 
This, together with my other labors, had kept me several hours 
longer exposed, and I was sensible of being much weaker and 
was nearly powerless. With no little dijQ&culty, in my torpid 
state, I dragged myself under and among the low branches 
into my lowly resting-place. The hour I judged to be between 
eight and nine in the evening. It was not without some 
satisfaction that I looked around me, and beheld the results 
of my labors. Notwithstanding the open front, a bed of 
snow, a frosty rock on one side, a congealed mass of snow and 
brush on the other, I was happy in the reflection that my 
lot here was infinitely better than it would be outside. 

I was now to enter upon a new experience, — a kind I 
had never known before. I was then, in reality, to spend a 
night upon the dreary Mountains. I will not ask any one to 
imagine what my feelings were. Let them endeavor, for a 
moment, when they retire to their couch at night, to form an 
idea of them ; and let me hope that they may never have sim- 
ilar experience. A dark, wild and scraggy mountain, a howl- 
ing, pitiless storm of hail and snow, clouds above and clouds 
beneath, no food, no drink, with a bed of ice and a rock for 
a pillow, and five thousand feet above any human habitation ! 
Here, shivering and chattering, I went to my dreary covert, 
not to sleep, not to rest, but to await in suspense the coming 
of another day. 



NIGHT. 37 

Drawing myself up into as small a compass as possible 
under my covering, I prepared to pass a long^ long night — 
the longest of my life. And I shall be satisfied, thought 
I, if it does not seem more than six nights in one. And 
sleep ! Ah ! that which now is most desirous of all, and 
which forces itself upon me with such power, must be 
averted. I know too well its fatal consequences. A few 
minutes' indulgence, and I never should awake, except in 
another world. But can I prevent it ? Food I require, 
and thirst presses me hard. These I can endure. I can, 
at least, palliate their gnawings by the snow around me. 
Bat can I prevent this sleep ? Have I sufficient vital force 
left to resist its influences? There I do not know myself. 
The ordeal I have never experienced. But it will be j^ut 
to the test, and I can but try. My feet are stiff and 
frozen, my body shakes with the freezing chill which courses 
along its veins, and I may be overpowered against all my 
exertions. I do not know. The morning only can tell; 
and, if then alive, it will also tell whether T shall be able 
to leave this place. 

During the whole night, the storm swept down the moun- 
tain's side, and with such violence that I often clenched 
the handle of my umbrella, for fear the wind would catch 
underneath and carry away my only frail shelter. To prevent 
sleep, I took constrained positions, knowing that then I 
should not retain any one long at a time. Now I leaned 
on one elbow, then upon the other; then I changed from 
side to side ; then forward, then backward ; again at full 
length, and then drawn up. My feet I was frequently 



38 THEFIRSTDAY. 

knocking upon the heels to renew the circulation. Often 
I leaned against the rock, until its continued coldness, send- 
ing death-like tremors through my whole frame, required a 
different posture. At intervals, the snow, which drove in 
through the openings and in front, must be brushed off, and 
the excruciating cramps of my limbs were only to be relieved 
by violent and determined motions. 

All this time, my mind, though oppressed with the constant 
cravings for sleep, remained not inactive. Thought, contrasting 
my situation, glided away to the Summit House, where 
many comforts were awaiting the unfortunate needy; — to 
the Camp House, in which I had already passed one comfort- 
able night ; — to the Glen and Alpine Houses, where so 
many beds might be at my disposal. I thought of our 
own family, at the hour of midnight, quietly sleeping within 
their warm houses, and little dreaming that one of their 
number, at the same time, was lying upon the cold side of 
a mountain. I thought of each of my friends and acquaint- 
ances, all of whom, I knew, would so gladly offer me a 
part of their accommodations, could they be made aware 
of my exposed situation. But I was happy in the belief 
that they were enjoying a warm shelter in their own quiet 
homes; and then I doubted not that there were others, in 
a more suffering condition than myself, — as Sir John Frank- 
lin and party, in the polar sea, soldiers in the Crimea, with 
shattered limbs and mangled bodies, subjected to the severest 
exposures. 

Above all, I could not reconcile to myself the strange- 
ness of my situation, — that any person, who had been in 



NIGHT. 39 

the farthest corner of the globe, exposed to dangers of 
many forms, should return, and, by a singular combination 
of circumstances, find himself obliged to pass a night amid the 
snows of the Mountains. 



THE SECOND DAY. 

FRIDAY, OCTOBER THE 26TH. 

When the first rays of light appeared this morning, so 
much sooner had the night passed than I had expected, 
that I presumed the moon was shining. My body was stiff 
and rigid with cold, and pressing upon the ground with 
such a senseless weight, that it seemed to me I had become 
a part of the Mountain itself. My bones pained me exces- 
sively. The weariness I experienced was as if I had 
climbed the rocky steeps the whole night, and gladly did I 
adopt a full recumbent position, with the hope that it would 
bring the desired rest; but with no relief. The glare of 
day established itself, and slowly I aroused myself from the 
lethargic state of the last hour. With slower movements 
my limbs came into action, enabling me to creep upon my 
hands and knees out to the front of the rock. Here, sup- 
ported with my hands upon the rock, I exercised, stamp- 
ing my feet to restore them to warmth and animation, — both 
feet and hands being more or less frozen. 

The snow had ceased falling, but the wind still blew hard 
and keenly. Clouds obscured the sun, and shut out all 
view below me, while, above, the air was clear, rendering 
visible the side of the Mountain. With the aid of my 
cane I ascended the slope a short distance to the track 



THEWAYLOST. 41 

more free of brush, being about the line where vegetation 
ceases, and where a more open view could be had. 

Here I stopped, and endeavored to form some idea as to 
which way I should go. Facing the Mountain, the barren 
rocky side stretched away to the right and left. The right 
was lost by a curve not far off. The left, at its extreme, 
was buried in the clouds, and the top, uniting the two, 
marked the sky with dark and rugged outlines; and, above 
all, and behind, at the extreme right, towered a high peak, 
white with its snowy cap, and like an island in the midst 
of the clouds. Near me was the brush patch, where I lost 
the stakes which I was following the night before. There 
was now nothing left to guide me. There were no land- 
marks, and I knew not what course to pursue. I had no 
knowledge of the points of the compass. I had seen noth- 
ing, since leaving the Grlen House, but the simple ground 
for a short distance around me; and here the view was 
limited by clouds, on both sides and below; no object to 
give the slightest indication as to which way I should direct 
my steps. 

The only idea which carried any degree of security was 
to find the stakes, and follow them. In this, after a 
considerable search, I was doomed to disappointment, for I 
could not discover them beyond this place. Several glimpses 
I caught of a forest below the clouds, as they changed 
their position, but it was not sufficient to tempt me to 
exchange the open side of the Mountain, where I could see, 
if I had the opportunity, for the thick brush and wood 
where I could not see with the best of opportunities. 



42 THESECONDDAY. 



There was nothing to the right, for in that direction was 
the snow-capped Mountain, which I presumed to be Mount 
Washington, and which I wished to leave behind me. In 
front the Mountain itself interposed, and only the left seemed 
to present no objection, although that had very little in its 
favor. All was alike to me ; there was no reason why 
I should go one way rather than another; and I could 
have no prejudices to bias me for or against any particular 
way. If one thing, however, in ray dilemma, seemed to be 
worse than others, it was that there did not appear to be 
anything from which to form an opinion. I might suppose 
I was on the opposite side of the Mountain from the Glen 
House, from the fact that I could see no object that I had 
met in my ascent the day before; but, then, the part now 
in view was a small portion of the whole Mountain, which 
would render the supposition of little account. 

The case then lay here : Out of the different ways from 
which I might select, I would choose the one which offered 
no objection. I did not wish to go to the right, towards 
Mount Washington again, and I concluded to make a trial 
to the left. In this I was confirmed by the direction of 
the stakes, which were leading from the supposed Mount 
Washington towards the left;* and I had reason to believe 
that, in making the circuit of the Mountain, whether to the 
right or to the left, I should somewhere cross my track of 
the ascent, which would conduct me safely down. 

* This Mountain I afterwards learned to be Mount Jefferson, and that 
Mount Washington lay to the left, behind the bluffs, where it could 
not be seen. 



THE WAY LOST. 43 

With these considerations I started on my search with light- 
ened feelings, and with satisfaction at the thought that by pre- 
serving this height I should be enabled before noon to detect the 
rocks and path, the Ledge, or the Camp House, or new road, 
or the Glen House, which would set me aright. 

The ground was covered with snow to the depth of eight 
or ten inches, with here and there bare spots glistening with 
a coating of ice ; and rocks, hollows, holes, brush and scraggy 
places, were scattered about on every side. I could travel 
but slowly, on account of my own weakness, and the 
various difficulties in the way. My feet broke through the 
hard crust at nearly every step. The motion of my limbs, 
by the benumbing cold, was much impeded ; and in avoid- 
ing the different obstacles it was necessary to go several times 
the distance it otherwise would have been. Every few min- 
utes with my cane I broke the ice from the rocks, vainly en- 
deavoring to quench my hurning thirst. I travelled about two 
hours towards a part which showed some appearances of a path, 
when I saw that I had gained not more than half the distance, 
and that, as I approached, it looked less and less likely that I 
should find any outlet. Concluding, however, that I should not 
know, except by going there, I continued to walk on. 

Towards noon, as I judged it to be, I arrived near the place, 
and, much to my disappointment, I could not discern anything 
bearing the least resemblance to an outlet. The rocky and 
precipitous face of the Mountain alone, commencing from a high 
ridge above, descended and was lost in a sea of clouds in the 
depths below. This place, as I afterwards learned, was called 
the Gulf of Mexico. I should call it the Gulf of Clouds. 



44 THE SECOND DAY. 

There was now no other course but to retrace my steps, discour- 
aging as it might be. What I had supposed would not require 
more than an hour's walking, had already consumed four, and I 
could not expect to get back to where I had left in the 
morning in much less time. But I walked along as fast as 
the nature of the way and clumsiness of my frozen feet would 
permit, though my stomach was faint, my body weakened, and 
my limbs benumbed, for the cold was yet severe. Often, to 
reach a place nearly in a direct line ahead, it was necessary to 
go to the right, then the left, avoiding the roughest places, the 
ups and downs, and the horn-like brush almost impenetrable 
by human footsteps. Occasionally I stopped a few moments 
to breathe and to rest. Food, since the morning, I did not 
realize the want of so much as drink. The lumps of snow 
and ice afforded a temporary relief only. At one place, on 
breaking the ice, I found underneath a little trickling water, 
which, as I drank, seemed to me a luxury known but to few. 

As I approached the place I left in the morning the clouds 
cleared away so that I could see below. I had a view of an 
expanse of dark forests, beyond which another range of Moun- 
tains appeared, but with no glimpse of a building, not a 
curling smoke or any living object, to cheer or to encourage. 
Hearing a noise of clinking as if with a steel and hammer upon 
stone, I looked around to see from whence it proceeded, and 
perceived upon the top of the bluff the fonns of two men. 
Now, indeed, thought I, shall I be able to effect my escape. 
They appeared to be standing together, and, as I continued to 
hear the same noise, I concluded they were there at work ; and 
yet I could not reconcile it to myself that they should be so 



T H E W A Y L S T . 45 

occupied at so late an hour and in so exposed and bleak a 
position. But, elated with the strongest hopes and desires, 
I raised my voice with halloo after halloo. Discerning no 
movement in them, I repeated it many times and with greater 
effort, listening to the sound as it died away on the wind. 
Again and again I essayed, with my voice at its highest 
pitch, and until my throat was nearly powerless. At last, 
believing they might be rocks with shapes like men, and, as 
it was useless to attempt to reach them, I continued on, but 
not at all sure, occasionally stopping and attempting with vari- 
ous motions and my voice to attract their attention. 

Cruelly disappointed, as I came near the spot where I had 
encamped, I observed that the sun, which I had seen a 
part of the day, would soon disappear over the Mountain. 
I thought it might be best to ascend the Mountain higher 
up, and endeavor to get a view, and search for an outlet further 
on to the right. A short trial over the rocks satisfied me 
that I should not be able to accomplish it, and that darkness 
would overtake and leave me in a worse position. I sat down 
to rest and to reflect. What can I do ? What is best to be 
done ? What ought I to do ? for I am yet free to move and 
act. There is no reason why I should act impulsively or with- 
out thought, but rather from sober judgment. What is the lest 
course under the circumstances ? Shall I push ahead with all 
my strength around the mountain, taking the course opposite 
that of to-day ? Or shall I risk my chance in recklessly plung- 
ing through the brush among rocks, precipices, or anything that 
presents down the mountain side ? 

The clouds gathered around closer and thicker. The in- 



46 THE SECOND DAY. 

tense, the piercing cold seemed forced through and through my 
body. The wind, the darkness, the coming storm, all seemed 
in prudence to dictate, — yes, it is better, it must be — there 
is no alternative, — aiiother night on the Mountains, hard as it 
may be. But I almost shudder to think I must lie down 
again on the cold ground, and for another whole and long 
night ! Yet I shudder and tremble much more exposed to this 
boisterous weather. But perhaps I can find a place here 
where I can be more comfortable, and suffer less than the 
last night. There is yet a little time. I searched around for 
near half an hour, but without success. With some difficulty 
in the storm and darkness I descended a short distance and 
found the roc'^ where I had spent the last night. 

As I looked upon the dreary spot, the thought came, Can it he 
that I must go through with another night ? Had the idea 
of this occurred this morning should I not have felt at least a 
little discouraged ? that I might awake, and find it a 
dreadful dream! 

I fixed down my umbrella in the same place, and endeav- 
ored to close it in more securely than before. But I could 
effect little with my swollen and almost useless hands, and 
with my benumbed limbs bending and twisting under me. 
And it is of no use to attempt building a fire, thought I, for 
the wind is violent, like that of the last night, and the snow 
again comes driving and whirling. Perhaps it is better that 
I cannot have it. I might receive in my present state more 
injury than benefit. 

But this intolerable thirst ! My throat and stomach feel as 
if they were scorched. I must get some drink before com- 



SECOND NIGHT. 47 

mencing upon this long night. I believe I can find my way 
to the place where I discovered water during the day ; but the 
risk in the storm would be too great. I must be content 
without it. Darkness advances. I dread, yet I must seek, 
my shelter. In how short a time should I be powerless with- 
out it! 

For drink I gathered large crusts of frozen snow, which I 
could only take with me among the low branches by placing 
them on the ground before me, and drawing myself up to 
them. In this way, upon my hands and knees, through the 
cold snow I crept into my humble abode. And humble I 
found it; and, if ever I had in my heart anything like vain 
pride, I am sure there was none now remaining. 

I endeavored to soften my bed, which was an uneven place, 
hard, rough, inclined and crooked, and as if made up of a mix- 
ture of snow, sharp stones, stubs and knobs of roots, by break- 
ing out the frozen ice and snow from the fir-tops which I had 
gathered and placing them under me. But the improvement 
was slight, and I felt them pressing into my flesh painfully. 
Then, as I curled myself up to acquire warmth, thoughts came 
to my mind: "Well, — I cannot say, — this may be my last 
' Ramble.' This cold is stupefying, — I cannot get warm ; 
and if I lose myself for five minutes it is perhaps decided. 
Bat I may as well take a humorous view of it. IIow singu- 
lar, that £0 immediately after the publishing of ' Bambles 
in Eastern Asia,' this last and shortest of all m}^ rambles, 
and within itaj own country, should be the winding iq) ! — the 
thread caught and broken on Mount Washington, almost in 
sight of my own home. Terminated in such a manner, no one 



48 THE SECOND DAY. 

could know the circumstances. Different reports, if any, 
would be circulated. Some, perhaps, would have it that I 
was insane ; others that I wished to commit suicide ; and the 
most charitable might allow that I was lost in the fog. Of 
course there would be no one to say to the contrary of any 
of them. 

But the second night was passed much like the first. I 
could not control the shaking which extended through my 
whole muscular system, it being like that experienced when 
one's teeth chatter with the cold. It stormed and snowed 
all night, and the snow drifted in considerably, entering by 
the open front of my covering, though not so as to reach 
much the upper part of my body. The wind came in violent 
gusts, threatening to strip to atoms my only shelter. Should 
this take place, then would come a greater trial than any 
before. 

To be prepared for such an emergency, I decided, in my 
own mind, that, if it should happen, I would use all my 
strenQ-th to descend the Mountain in whatever direction I 
could move, although it appeared next to impossible to do 
so in the nio;ht and in the midst of the thick brush with 
its sharp and angular limbs ; and that, wherever exhaustion 
obliged me to stop, I would fasten my handkerchief in the 
most conspicuous place, as a signal to any who might pass 
within its sight; and, when it came to the worst, I would 
take from my pocket-book a piece of paper, and write 
upon it a brief account of my misfortune, for the satis- 
faction of my friends. 

I suffered much from the want of water, notwithstanding 



SECOND NIGHT. 49 

every few minutes I took into my mouth a piece of the 
snow-crust, which alleviated the distress only while I was 
swallowing it. But it would not melt fast enough to quench 
my thirst. With my mouth chilled by repeated mouthfuls of 
snow or ice, there was left insufficient warmth to melt but 
a little, and that at intervals. I was also distressed for 
breath. My respiration was short, and my lungs would ap- 
parently inflate to but about half their natural capacity; and 
with the greatest effort that I could exert there was little 
improvement, the sensation being constant of desiring to take 
a full breath. This state of the lungs I attributed to the 
contracting action of cold on the chest. 

I also continually experienced a severe pain in my left 
side, as if a heavy weight was resting there, or as if great 
compression was being made over the heart. 

Occasionally, as on the night before, I examined my pulse. 
It could not be felt with my benumbed fingers, but with the 
palm of my hand I could make it out. It was accelerated, 
as I judged, to about eighty, with nearly a third less than its 
natural force, somewhat laboring, and very intermittent. I did 
not fear but that I should be alive the next day, if I did 
not fall asleep. 

The thought occurred, what if I am obliged to stay out a 
night after this, without food, drink, or sleep ? After a short 
consideration, taking into account my present state, that which 
had passed, and the chances to come, I concluded that, 
terrible as it might be, I should be able to survive it; but 
whether I could then walk or not, I could not decide. And 
I was glad I could think so, for I much preferred to have 



50 THE SECOND DAY. 

mj hopes leading ahead of mj actual powers, than to have 
them following behind short of the reality. 

" But how did you keep yourself awake ? " is the ques- 
tion that has been many times asked of me. If it is pos- 
sible for me to know correctly, I should say that it was 
in consequence of the multiplicity of thoughts which crowded 
on my mind during the night, together with the almost 
constant variation of my position. I must confess that I 
was afraid I should fall asleep in spite of myself. Several 
times I did fancy that I was already in a doze, when I 
started with a sudden impulse, and aroused myself anew. 1 
strove to vary my feelings by the consideration of subjects 
most dijfferent from each other. 

At one time I was recalling to mind the many agree- 
able acquaintances I had made in various parts of the world, 
— or, rather, they seemed to appear without recalling, — and 
the exciting scenes I had met in my travels. I thought 
of those friends at home and abroad from whom I had re- 
ceived favors, so many kindnesses and hospitalities, and re- 
gretted that I had been so remiss in properly making my 
acknowledgments to them ; and it seemed to me that every 
person I had ever known or seen was present to me. 

At another time my mind reverted to the people below. 
Those who know that I have gone on to the Mountains, will 
they be likely to think of me again? It is very doubtful. 
There is no reason why they should. At the Camp House 
they may ; as I intended to return there by noon of the 
same day. But they will probably suppose that I have 
passed down without stopping. And yet they may not, as they 



SECOND NIGHT. 51 

would think it strange that I had gone, and did not call 
for a few moments on my way. At the Glen House 
they will presume I have gone over the Mountains to the 
other side, and am safely lodged in some hotel, and then 
will think no more about me. At the Alpine House, in Gor- 
ham, they will wonder why I am staying so long with their 
horse, when I expected to be back the same afternoon. 

Again, I was commenting on the great strength of the 
wind, which came with almost terrific violence, whether it 
could loosen the rocks above, and set them to rolling and 
bounding down the mountain side upon me. 

And, when my frail covering quivered and bent above me, 
I thought of the part it had thus far performed towards 
my preservation. How different the result would have 
been had there not been a little rain to induce me to take 
the umbrella ! Without it, in all probability, I should not 
have survived the first night, or a half of the night, and 
much less the second. And upon how very slight a cir- 
cumstance depended its being retained, after the rain had 
ceased, and there was no further use for it, and it impeded 
so much my movements ! Several times, while buffeting 
the storm, I nearly left it by the wayside ; but, with a 
kind of distant thought that it might yet be of some ser- 
vice, I was induced to carry it a little longer. At last, 
when my hands were suffering extremely from exposure, and 
myself frequently thrown down, I was on the point of giv- 
ing it up entirely ; but the thought occurring at that moment 
that I had in my pocket a cord, which I had taken off 
my valise on leaving the Glen House, deterred me. I 



52 THE SECOND DAY. 

fastened tlie umbrella to my coat, and carried it without fur- 
ther trouble. And now I am yet alive, from its proving a 
shelter sufficient to prevent me from chilling and freezing. 

To hold myself awake I did not make exertion simply 
to keep my eyes open, but to favor an activity of the 
mind, to enliven its action by allowing those thoughts to 
occupy my attention which were most interesting, or those 
connected directly or indirectly with my situation. Had I 
made the effort only to keep awake^ with no other exercise 
of the mind than thinking of the cold, I fear I should have 
given away, and sunk with the agreeable stupor which so 
fatally succeeds a certain degree of cold. 

Desiring to know as near as possible the exact sensation 
of this state of cold, without its attendant dangers, and for 
the variety it would afford, I thought I would endeavor 
to experience it. If I recollect correctly my body was so 
benumbed, that I had not at this time or afterwards any 
of the tremblings to which I before had been subject. 

Taking a constrained position, by leaning backwards as 
I sat upon the ground, I placed one elbow upon a pointed 
stone, and rested my head to one side, on the palm of my 
hand. This was with the view that if I should be over- 
powered, the pain occasioned would eventually awaken me; 
and if that failed, the relaxation of my hand under my 
head and falling of my body would at last be sufficient in 
its effects to recall the notice of my mind. I then, with 
a little anxiety, gave myself up to whatever impressions 
might present. 

A few minutes passed, and my thoughts seemed to have 



SECOND NIGHT. 53 

no particular form or course. The sensation of cold was 
succeeded bj a kind of soothing glow stealing along through 
every nerve and fibre, filling the whole system as if with 
an invisible ethereal fluid. My body soon seemed like a 
mass of cold clay, over which I had no control, and in 
which my own self was dwelling as a mere tenant, and 
from which I was about to escape, leaving it behind me. 
My mind became perfectly composed and quiet, as if ab- 
sorbing some balmy and mysterious influence which floated 
gently over and around me. I did not wish to move or 
make the least effort. I felt resigned and reconciled to 
whatever situation I might be in. The world seemed noth- 
ing to me, and life not worth living for. What tie could the 
world possess against the fascinating spell which was now 
riveting its bonds upon me ! I would willingly and gladly 
give up all for a half hour of this delightful indulgence. I 
would not if I could stay its procedure. It comes — I am 
happy — and let it continue, was the thought or the sum of 
my sensations ; and I believe I was fcist sinking, as in a 
charmed and unresisting state, into the soft folds of that 
insidious enemy — sleep ! 

But I cannot remember all that I felt and experienced. 
It is now like a dream, the recollection of which is, in a 
measure, indistinct and imperfect ; and yet the impression 
seems still to remain, and I cannot recall it. I can how- 
ever remember that after about ten minutes had elapsed, I 
brought the subject to my mind that I was making an experi- 
ment, and that, as I was not now myself, I should not yield to 
the present influences, but govern my actions in such a course 



54 THE SECOND DAY. 



as I knew I should pursue when unsubjected to allurements. 
I aroused myself by making extra exertions, moving first my 
head, and then my limbs, until all were brought into exercise. 
I believe, had I not long since formed the habit of preparing 
myself for various emergencies, I might, in this case, have given 
up to my greatest inclination to sleep ; and, the precaution I had 
taken proving insufl&cient to awaken me, I should probably have 
still slept. 



THE THIRD DAY. 

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 27TH. 

After another long night my heart was gladdened to per- 
ceive the breaking of day. 

Clouds obscured the view, and I endeavored to procure 
rest before rising, by lying in my cold bed a little longer. 
But in this I was unsuccessful ; and, on looking off soon after- 
wards from under the border of my light covering, I saw 
through the dry brush a building in the distance below. As 
soon as I could realize that it was not my imagination, I began 
slowly to move my limbs, and slowly and painfully I crawled 
forth to the front of the rock. Here I sat and puzzled my 
mind as to what house could be on this side of the Mountains. 
It was several miles off, situated at the further side of a large 
forest, which extended to the base of the steep below me. I 
had heard of no other house being very near the Mountain 
but the Glen House. I thought I could recognize this as 
being that house, though I had had only a passing glance 
of it. But how can it, thought I, be on this side ? for there 
is the white cap of Mt. Washington in a similar direction, and 
about three miles from here. As it was, there was no way to 
solve the diflSculty, and I could only remain in perplexity. 

I supported myself on the rock, and exercised my block-like 
feet, stamping to restore them to animation. I was fully con- 
scious of my weakness, by being obliged every few moments to 



56 THETHIRDDAY. 

stop and rest. The cold was yet severe, but not so intense as 
that of the two previous days. 

After about two hours I was able to walk, and with 
painful steps, tottering and slipping, I ascended a short distance 
to the tract above the brush, where I might, by having a clear 
view, determine the course to be entered upon. 

I considered first the plan of taking a straight line down 
the Mountain, and through the forests, to the Glen House, or 
to whatever house it might prove to be. But the thoughts of 
being shut up in a forest where I could not see out, and 
of the entangling brush, fallen trees, precipices, rocks, and 
various other obstacles, and losing my way, were sufficient 
to deter me, and I preferred to trust to the greater safety 
of open land. Believing that my course ought to be to encircle 
the Mountain in the opposite direction from that of the day 
before, I determined to adopt it, keeping within a similar 
distance from the heights above me. 

Starting off, I went along slowly and with unstable steps, 
touching with one hand on the rocks, until I should gain the 
natural use of my feet and limbs. I frequently stopped, 
to break pieces of ice from the rocks, and to gather lumps of 
snow, endeavoring to quench my thirst. Food I cared little 
for, and thought I should not rnsh to eat, even were it at 
hand. But I could not remain ignorant of the fact that I 
was becoming weaker, that my strength was less than that of 
yesterday. This I perceived by the effort I was obliged to 
make to hold my body erect, it inclining to stoop forward like 
a man bowed down with old age. Often I raised myself 
upright, but was very soon in the same bent posture; which 



THERESCUE. 5T 



perhaps is not strange, when it is recollected that I had been 
from the first without food, rest or sleep, constantly subjected to 
cold, and constantly making exertion. Yet, aiding myself with 
one hand on the cane and the other stretched out holding 
upon the rocks by the side, I hobbled on, with the hope that 
each step was bringing me nearer to the outlet. 

I should think it was towards the middle of the day that I 
halted upon an elevated flat rock, and paused to lay out ahead 
the course most free of impediments among the rocks and 
difficult places, I had concluded to take a range, if possible, a 
hundred feet higher up the Mountain, so that I should not pass 
unobserved any house below, which the oval form of the land 
might conceal. I was on the point of moving on, when, to 
my joy and astonishment, I saw, directly ahead of me, a party 
of men just coming into sight around the angle of the bluff. 
They had long sticks or poles, and were advancing in a line 
a little distance from each other. They appeared to be look- 
ing around on the ground, as if for some object in the snow. 
With not the shadow of a thought that I could be the object 
, they were in quest of, I cried out to them in a loud voice. 
All stopped short, and looked at me with a steady gaze. Why do 
they stare at me so ? I wondered. They seem astonished and 
amazed. Perhaps they are surprised in meeting with any one 
on this side of the Mountain. But I am most happy to fall 
in with them. I shall soon know now whether I am on the 
right course or not. 

Directly, one of them, Mr. Hall, recovering first from the 
apparent surprise, started forward, cutting his way with a small 
axe at places through the brush. On coming near, he 



58 THETHIRDDAY. 

stopped, and asked, in a tone of evident incredibility, " Is this 
Dr. Ball?" 

Receiving an answer in the affirmative, he seemed more 
disconcerted, as if he had expected a negative reply, and 
as if he could not believe, and continued, 

" Are you the person who left the Glen House, Wednes- 
day afternoon, to walk up on the new road ? " 

I replied that I was. 

As if still incredulous, " And have you been out on the 
Mountain since that time ? " 

I said that I had, since Thursday morning. 

"It is very wonderful ! How could you. preserve yourself 
all this time ? You had nothing to eat, nothing to drink ! 
And you can stand ! " 

The others, Francis Smith, J. J. Davis, Thomas Culhane, 
Patrick Culhane, and an Irishman called Thomas, gathered 
around, and all, with expressions of doubtfulness, looked 
at me, without speaking. Mr. H. then informed me that 
they were a party which had come in search of me, all 
being experienced guides; and that men had been out look- 
ing for me the day before, but, failing, they had turned out 
this morning to continue the search. They had followed 
my tracks to near this place, but, losing them in the brush, 
they were extending their line to re-discover them, when 
they heard my voice. 

Distressed by thirst, I asked them for drink, thinking 
they might have brought some, in case it should be needed 
for resuscitation. They seemed to regret deeply that they 
had provided none; one of them had food in his pocket. 



TIIERESCUE. 59 



I took a piece of gingerbread, chewing it, but, from the 
dry and parched state of my mouth, I could not swallow 
it, although I had little inclination to cat. 

I inquired if any one had been on the bluff in the 
afternoon of the previous day. Mr. Smith answered that 
he and another man had been there, and stood for some 
time looking around for me ; that they also went to the 
summit, and, finding my tracks, followed them to within a 
half a mile of this place; but, night advancing, they de- 
spaired of success, and concluded to return home. Mr. S. said 
the wind was blowing very hard while on the bluffs, which 
probably was the reason they did not hear my hallooing to 
them. 

Knowing that aid now was within my reach, that this 
was my rescue, and that I had not to rely upon myself, 
my strength was less, and I could not walk as firmly as 
before. I threw my arms around the necks of two of the 
party, as I was directed, and, walking between them, we 
started on our return. And I shall not forget the thrills 
of emotion I experienced, from their hearty good-will, readi- 
ness, and earnestness, in affording me their assistance, each 
anxious to render some aid. But I could not but notice, 
from the implements brought, that the party had no expect- 
ation of finding me alive. 

I observed that the course we were on was the same 
that I was pursuing when discovered. 

Coming to a rock which had a small hollow in the top, the 
ice was broken out with a hatchet, and the two swallows of 
water it contained, which I was enabled to get by bending 



60 THETHIRDDAY. 

low, was more grateful than any wines or drinks I had 
ever tasted. 

On our way, I asked how it was we were approaching 
Mount Washington, the snow-capped Mountain ahead, when 
we ought to go from it ? In the answer given, I learned 
that Mount Washington, from this part, was not visible, on 
account of the high bluffs above us, and that the mountain 
we were now approaching was Mount Jefferson. This, then, 
resolved my perplexity, and accounted for my decision in 
going around the other way, towards the Gulf of Mexico, 
instead of coming in this direction. (See note, page 42.) 

At a good pace, we traversed the side of the Mountain, 
and, coming to the regular path, descended the well-known 
Ledge to the well-remembered Camp House. The distance 
from the place where I was found was about a mile and 
a half, and about two from my encampment. 

Mr. Myers welcomed me as " from the dead," saying, " I 
know you have had a severe trial, for, here below, during 
the first night, the water in a bowl was frozen thick, in 
a room adjoining one which had a fire. Besides, towards 
night of the same day, I went up on the Ledge, and, while 
standing and looking around to see if you were not yet 
coming, I froze both of my heels. And such a night of 
anxiety I never wish to pass again ! All night long the 
storm beat down upon the house. I laid down a little, 
but could not sleep ; and rising I spent the time in walk- 
ing to and fro, opening and looking out of the door, build- 
ing the fire, &c. And how, thought I, must it be to you 
on the Mountains, and during the whole of that long night 7 " 



THERESCUE. 61 



I remarked that, although, pretty severe, I believed I 
should have reached this place alone, as I was, at last, on 
the right course. But to this Mr. H. expressed a differ- 
ent opinion, for the reason that, soon after they had started 
with me, the clouds gathered around and shut in the view, 
which I had not observed. 

My boots being taken off, my feet were examined, and 
found still to remain frozen. Cold water, from melting snow 
and ice, was brought, into which my feet were plunged and 
bathed until the frost was removed. I drank a cup of tea 
slightly warmed, but it made me sick, and my stomach 
rejected it ; cold water only, which I very much craved, 
could be retained. 

Feeling a little rested, my feet and hands wrapped in 
flannels, I was placed upon a horse, and, with the party, 
proceeded over the new road a mile and a half. The horse, 
for many years accustomed to the Mountains, carried me 
very steadily, and without guiding; and seemed to know 
that his burthen required in his movements care and cau- 
tion, — guardedly stepping around or over a stone, stump, or 
gully, or with easy motions by the side of some place 
soft and miry ; at the same time a man walked on each 
side, to give their assistance, if required. In this way I 
rode along with some degree of comfort, though not with- 
out additional fatigue, as I supported myself from falling. 
The distance, although short, seemed long and tedious. This, 
with my exhaustion, was such as to remind me of a trip 
made some years before to a volcano in Manilla, where 
our party travelled on horseback the greater part of two 

6 



62 THETHIRDDAY. 

days and nights; and, during this ride, my mind was con- 
stantly upon the extreme weariness that I experienced on 
that occasion, the two states of exhaustion being so similar 
to each other. 

At the end of this part of the road, and which is not 
yet finished for travelling, we met Mr. Thompson waiting 
with his horses and carriage. He had arranged with the 
party, to be informed, by means of signal-flags, when my 
body was discovered, and had watched the men with a 
telescope as they advanced over the side of the Mountain 
and back, and set oif in season to meet them on their 
arrival. Mr. T. took me by the hand, and welcomed me 
" back aZzye," saying, " You have been through what no 
other person has, or probably will again, in a thousand 
years." 

Being transferred to his carriage, I reclined at full length, 
covered with blankets, which protected me from the rain as 
well as the cold ; and, with my head supported by one of 
my rescuers, we continued on. As every motion of jolting 
or rocking gave to my now sensitive body more or less pain, 
the horses were driven slowly ; and, with the party follow- 
ing on foot, we arrived at the Grlen House about five 
o'clock in the afternoon. Happy, indeed, were the feelings 
of one^ as he saw the carriage draw up in front of the 
substantial hotel, and observed, in the anxious faces of those 
who gathered around, the expression of deep and heartfelt 
sympathy, entertained towards him, a stranger ! And, if 
possible, happier still were those feelings, when he heard 
from their own lips, in softened tones, expressions of interest 



THERESCUE. 63 



and regard at his return, the lost alive, and others, bearing 
evidence of their sincerity in their solicitations to render 
personal assistance. 

Here, under the kind charge of the female portion of the 
household, I was made as comfortable as care and attention 
could make a sufferer. Being asked what I should prefer to 
take first, I replied, a little hot cordial, if it was to be had. 
This prepared and swallowed in teaspoonfuls much revived me. 
Soon after, desirous to take nourishment, and knowing the 
danger of too much hearty food immediately following so long 
an abstinence, I drank part of a cup of gruel, to which a little 
milk was added. This I repeated at intervals of an hour, with 
occasional swallows of water for my ceaseless thirst, and thus 
continued to improve. 

Mr. Thompson, then being about to send to Gorham for the 
mail, asked me if I had any communication to make. Not 
supposing that my friends had received any intelligence respect- 
ing me, or of my having left the city even, I requested Mr. 
Thompson to send a few lines to my brothers in Boston, informing 
them of my accident and safety, and of my improving condi- 
tion ; which he kindly attended to. 

Befreshed by food and drink, and desiring repose, I soon 
had the satisfaction of enjoying once more the comforts of a 
nice, soft bed, and I trust with a higher appreciation than 
ever of a shelter impenetrable to the howling winds and 
drifting snows. In the mean time my injuries were cared for. 
Both hands and feet were much swollen, and were discolored 
to blackness; and appearances would lead to the belief that 
all vitality in them was lost. The sense of feeling was gone, 



64 THETHIRDDAY. 

and they seemed like masses of cold clay attached to the ex- 
tremities, with heavy dragging sensations. The right foot was 
more severely frozen than the other, owing to its being a little 
larger, thus filling the boot closer, and admitting the cold 
more freely. The right hand also was more frozen than the 
left, from its being more exposed, as that hand was used mostly 
with the cane. 

My proposition was to apply to the injuries a poultice of 
flaxseed meal, with oil and charcoal ; but, at the suggestion of Mr. 
Hall, who, from some experience with frozen limbs in these 
mountainous regions, had great faith in his remedy, and to which 
I could have no objection, a poultice of charred hickory leaves, 
pulverized and simmered with fresh lard, was substituted ; this 
being cooled, was laid on the hands and feet, and enclosed 
with large cloths. No other portion of the body being frozen, 
I was made as comfortable as the circumstances of the case 
would admit. 

All at the hotel, from the proprietor through to the ser- 
vants, were exceedingly kind and assiduous in their attentions, 
offering freely their aid, and, perceiving my entire helpless- 
ness, desired me to call on them at all hours. To Mr. and 
Mrs. Thompson, Mr. J. S. Hall, Miss D. Watts, — who spared 
no means or personal attentions to add to my comfort, or 
improve my condition, refusing all remuneration, — to them, 
and other members of the family, I shall always feel under 
the deepest obligations. 

To recapitulate, then, in brief, my exposure on the Moun- 
tains without food, shelter or fire, with snow and ice only for 
drink, was about sixty hours ; and I had been without sleep 



THE RESCUE. 65 



for upwards of eighty Jiours — of wliich one night was spent 
at the Camp House, and two in the snow, subjected to a furious 
storm and intense cold, with the sole protection of an umbrella. 

Towards nine o'clock in the evening I began to experience, 
for the first time after my return, a strong desire to sleep. 
In this I was very soon able to indulge, happy with the 
thought that there was now no fear, — that I might give my- 
self up entirely to rest with no anxiety for the morrow. 

Mr. H. remained in the room with me, and, during the night, 
several times aroused me from my too deep slumber. And 
the next morning I awoke at my usual hour, with the very 
agreeable consciousness that I had not, at least that night, ex- 
hausted by unremitted watchfulness and unceasing change of 
position, lain shivering and freezing amid the blasts and snows 
of a storm on the White Mountains ! 



6* 



APPENDIX. 



For a few days after my rescue my sufferings were comparatively light. 
Dr. H. Wardwell, of Gorham, was in attendance, and my brother, Dr. A. Ball, 
of Boston, arrived. There was general prostration of my system, with some 
fever, and thirst so great and constant as with diflBculty to be satisfied, re- 
quiring drink often during the day, and every half hour at night. Slight 
chills, commencing at the feet, frequently ran through my body, causing 
the whole nervous system to vibrate. My feet, as if dead, were without 
feeling or sensation, distorted by swelling, and covered with water-blisters. 
About the ankles, and above the injuries, the pain was severe, with piercing 
and racking sensations, as if pointed sticks and nails were thrust into the 
flesh, and wrenched back and forth among the bones, tendons, and nerves ; 
and, when cramp set in, the pain for a few minutes was excruciating. My 
hands ached and burned day and night, quite as if freshly immersed in scald- 
ing water ; but, with no other frozen parts, I only experienced a general 
soreness and tenderness, and I thought myself under the circumstances com- 
fortably well off. 

With my mind constantly occupied by varying incidents, the time 
did not pass as heavily as it might have done. During the day some 
member of the family came in, or others called and helped beguile the 
hours with agreeable conversation. In fact, before this I did not so fully 
realize the narrowness of my escape. As different persons spoke about it, — the 
foreboding appearance of the moimtain, as the dense clouds settled in black- 
ness over it ; the presumption of my death the first night, with the belief, 
confirmed beyond a doubt, after the second ; the almost miraculous preserva- 
tion ; and the bare escapes told of others, brought it more intimately to my 
mind. Then the relation of the various stories connected with the moun- 



68 



APPENDIX. 



tains, served in a measure to draw my thoughts from my suiferings. Among 
these was the story of Daniel Webster, who, after having made a toilsome 
ascent and reached the summit to Mount Washington, expressed himself in 
nearly these words : " And, after so much labor, have I succeeded in scaling 
your lofty sides, and now I meet with such a cold reception ! " 

Again, my room was situated so that, while lying in my bed even, I could 
look out and survey the Mountain ; or, bolstered up in my chair, I could sit 
at the window, and with the telescope bring the summit within my view and 
peer in among the rocks, ravines, and craggy places. And often, as I gazed 
upon the stern, and as if unrelenting visage of Mount Washington, I found 
myself soliloquizing upon the cold greeting and inhospitable treatment I 
had there experienced. 

On some of these days the Mountain was clear of clouds, and the sun shone 
brightly over the summit. Why could not I have had as favorable a time ? 
But I might, could I have waited for it ; and I felt a great desire to make a 
second attempt. At other times the Mountain was enveloped in clouds, and 
changing every few minutes into a variety of conditions. 

I wished much to see the exact spot where I had encamped two nights, and 
although it is in nearly the line between the Glen House and summit, yet we 
could not make it out. But this is a pleasure that perhaps will be reserved 
for me (if well enough) the next warm season, when I presume, from my vivid 
recollections of the place, I can find my way directly to it. 

Having remained about a week at the Glen House, and feeling as well as I 
should probably for some weeks to come, we made our preparations the even- 
ing beforehand, and the next morning set off for home. By means of a sofa 
placed in the carriage I was enabled to ride to Gorham very comfortably ; 
and by the cars, reclining all the way in the saloon, we reached Boston the 
same evening. There meeting my brothers, and in their care conveyed to 
the American House, I had satisfaction in the thought that I could for the 
present contemplate the White Mountains at a suitable distance. 

The following letter to my brother, from Mr. Hall, one of the party who 
went in search of me on the Mountain, I have taken the liberty to insert 
here. Mr. Hall built the Summit House, and resided there two seasons, and 
is now the proprietor of a hotel at East Burke, which is another commanding 
point of interest in the beautiful scenery of the White Mountains ; for his 



APPENDIX. 



69 



noble qualities and disinterested conduct towards the unfortunate, may kind 
fortune ever attend him. 



Glen, November 4, 1855. 

My dear Sir : You requested me to write the particulars of your brother's 
adventures at the AYhite Mountains ; which I will try to do, so far as I am 
able. The first knowledge I had of your brother's being lost was on Friday 
evening, Oct. 26 ; though I had been informed the evening before that there 
had been a gentleman at Mr. Myers' cottage at the Ledge, the night before, 
and that he was expected at the Glen House Thursday evening, and had not 
arrived ; but we all supposed that he had stopped the second night with Mr. 
Myers, and therefore gave ourselves no uneasiness in regard to his safety. 

Friday noon Mr. Thompson received intelligence that he left Mr. Myers' 
Thursday morning for the summit, and had not returned. He immediately 
sent a man (Francis Smith) to look after him, hoping to find him safely 
sheltered in the Summit House. But on his return, late in the evening, with 
intelligence that he had not reached the summit, but that he had crossed his 
trail several times on his way up and back, we had every reason to suppose 
that he was lost, and that he had perished the night before, unless by chance 
he had reached the woods, and found a shelter from the fury of the storm. 
But we could have but little hope that, if he was then alive, he could survive 
till we could relieve him from his perilous situation. "We started as early as 
we thought proper Saturday morning on our mournful journey, expecting, if 
we found the object of our search, to find him in the cold embrace of death, 
and actually prepared ourselves to bear him off dead. Our party consisted of 
three when we started, — myself, J. J. Davis (who assisted me in bearing off 
poor Lizzie Bourne), and Francis Smith. AYe took a man at Mr. Myers', and 
proceeded to within three-quarters of a mile of the summit ; there we came to 
his trail, which crossed our path from east to west. We followed it but a 
short distance in that direction, when it led us in a circuitous direction 
towards the north-east, on the line of the carriage-road. After following 
about half a mile we crossed our path (the bridle path that we followed up) 
in a direction nearly east. Here we met Patrick and Thomas Culhane, who 
joined our party, making six, and then, for the first time, I began to entertain 
a hope that we should find him alive, as the trail led toward the woods. We 
followed on with anxious step for the distance of a mile, when we came to a 
thicket of stunted spruce and fir. Here we lost the trail, as the snow had 
blown in to the depth of a foot or more, and we separated, after a brief con- 
sultation, three to the left, and three to the right, anxiously looking for a 
camp, or the trail, that we might again pursue the object of our search. We 
had not entirely passed the thicket, when, to our inexpressible joy and 
astonishment, we saw your brother, standing erect and alive, having spent 



70 APPENDIX. 



about sixty hours in sight of the Gleu House, if the cloud had not obstructed the 
view, without food or shelter but his umbrella, with snow at least four inches 
deep, and the wind, blowing almost a gale, sufficiently cold to freeze the most 
hardy of our mountaineers. It is the most astonishing thing in my experience 
of about twenty years of mountain life. But to proceed ; we found him in 
good spirits, and, although his hands were badly swollen and numb, and his 
limbs hardly sufficient to bare his weight, he informed us that he was looking 
out a way to go out, and had taken the caution to fasten his umbrella to a 
button-hole in his coat, in case he needed it to shelter him another night. My 
feelings here may be better imagined than described. He was suffering from 
thirst. We could not raise a cup of water to his parched lips, but we hastened 
to a rock, which, like the rock that Moses smote, and water gushed out to slake 
the thirst of the children of Israel, afforded the greatest luxury that could be 
administered. We assisted him down to Mr. Myers', and there administered 
to his wants as far as possible, using means to take the frost out of his feet, 
and prepare him as well as possible to ride to the Glen House, a distance of 
four miles. The first mile he rode the faithful horse Tom, who, as if conscious 
of his charge, stepped from rock to rock with the greatest caution. We 
reached the Glen House in about an hour after we left Mr. Myers', to the as- 
tonishment of all who have become acquainted with the facts. 

I would here add that on Wednesday, the day your brother went to the 
mountains, there was sufficient rain to form a crust over the snow, by which 
every foot-print was left. Thursday night there was sufficient snow fell to 
cover up the trail ; but the wind blew the snow out of the track the most of 
the way, but in the hollows covered it to the depth of a foot or more. Had the 
snow fallen without wind, there would have been but little chance to find 
him ; and, in less than an hour after we found him, it commenced snowing, 
and I am satisfied that wo could not have followed the trail an hour longer. 
There is nothing in the history of the White Mountains to compare with this 
case of your brother ; and I am very sure its parallel will not be known in 
time to come. Your brother can give a more accurate account of the affair 
himself. I have simply given you a brief account of the case, so far as my 
knowledge extends, thinking that you might possibly extract something that 
may be of some interest ; especially to know that your brother has our sym- 
pathies for his misfortvme, and our best wishes for his speedy recovery and 

future prosperity. 

I am, sir, yours very respectfully, 

JOSEPH S. HALL. 
To A. Ball, M. D. 

It is now March 1st, 1856. Upwards of four months have elapsed since my 
accident. Eortunately, I have recovered from the very helpless condition in 
which I remained for twelve weeks, and, under the treatment of my brothers. 



APPENDIX. 



71 



Dr. S. Ball and Dr. 11. Barnes, am now able to be out. My hands are nearly 
well, with no loss but a single nail from one finger. My feet, without the 
loss of a joint, I am able to use with moderation, to walk short distances ; 
they are more sensitive to the cold, but give me little trouble. With no 
apparently ill effects remaining, my general health is quite restored. I have 
indeed endured much suffering both mental and physical, passing sleepless 
nights and painful days ; but hardly more than I could have supposed would 
follow as a natural result of the injuries sustained. 

During this interval I read with much interest in the Boston Transcript the 
account of another excursion to the summit, by X. and his party. Although 
I am no advocate for late trips, especially after my late experience, yet his 
ascent will prove that mine was not in reality too late in the season ; but to 
other circumstances are to be attributed its accident and failure. Thus 
there are recorded of Mount Washington, in 1855, three ascents in three con- 
secutive months, — that of Miss Bourne in September, my own in October, and 
that of X. in November : the latest was successful, and the two earlier were 
unsuccessful. 

From what I am able to learn, I should say that September is as late as 
any attempt to ascend to the summit ought to be made, and particularly if 
the visitor goes for pleasure. I am inclined to think that people are not 
usually aware that September is late, and that the month following snow 
occasionally makes its appearance. It ought to be known to all that the two 
summit houses are closed by the middle of September each year, when the pro- 
prietors leave, and do not again return until the next June. One of the most 
hardy men of the Mountains told me that he with his friend undertook to 
make the ascent in February ; but when they had arrived within a mile of 
the summit they were obliged to turn back almost frozen. 

From my own experience, and from the many accounts of others, I am con- 
vinced that the only safe way to visit Mount Washington is to take a guide, 
and the unsafe way is to go without one. The weather is so variable, and 
liable to the most sudden changes, that, although a person may make the trip 
in the majority of cases safely, yet occasionally there might be a failure, and 
the consequences prove fatal. I would then say, especially. Take a guide. 
Take a guide until tlie new carriage-road is finished. Then invalids and all 
may ride to the summit in vehicles, so constructed that, by raising or depressing. 



72 



APPENDIX. 



the seats will be always level, safe in ascending or descending, and with no 
danger of losing the way. It is true many prefer to go alone and independently, 
to the risk of an uncompanionable and unintelligent associate; but safety here 
demands more than the gratification of minor wishes. 

Another thing in which visitors do not sufficiently guard themselves is 
proper clothing. I was informed at the Glen House that in the majority of 
cases it is very difficult to convince them that they will absolutely require 
warmer garments at the summit than at the base of the Mountain. When 
the weather below is very warm, they expect to find it the same above ; but 
in reality there is a difference of several degrees. In July and August the 
thermometer shows frequently a sinking to below the freezing-point ; and 
in general overcoats and shawls are necessary for comfort, even in the 
warmest part of the day. Visitors arrive at the summit in a considerable 
glow and perspiration ; they remain looking off the Mountain, absorbed 
with the beauty of the prospect, and forget the cold wind which is blowing 
upon them. Too late they think of their shawls or cloaks, that they might 
have brought with them, which would have obviated all difficulties. The 
result frequently is a cold and cough ; perspiration has received a sudden 
check ; pains in the chest, irritation or inflammation of the lungs follow, and 
ill health is often a consequence. 



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